


Axel

by jazsy



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: AU, M/M, Suspension of Disbelief Level: Lifetime Movie of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazsy/pseuds/jazsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is a speed skater who's been disqualified one too many times. To make him shape up, his coach orders him to train in figure skating. Bones, a former pairs skater now looking to make it in singles, is his trainer. Sparks and ice fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Axel

**Author's Note:**

> Take your suspension of disbelief and set it at Lifetime Movie of the Week level. Ok, you should be ready. 
> 
> Although I do ice skate, I have never been a speed or figure skater. Everything in this fic comes from watching the Olympics, and Wikipedia. I do realize that the situation in this story is unrealistic, lol. Also, none of the skating organizations are real.
> 
> Thanks to thalialunacy for being really, really excited about this.

"Skaters, take your mark."  
  
Jim adjusts his helmet one last time and bends over his left leg, angling his right leg back in order to push off with it. Coach Pike's last words echo inside his head.  
  
 _8 laps. Get in front, stay low and inside, and hold your line. And for fuck's sake, don't foul up- you've had too many warnings this season, Jim. This is an Olympic qualifying year, and I 'd hate to see you miss your shot because you got DQ'd._  
  
"Ready."  
  
Jim brings himself back to the present and focuses on the ice in front of him.  
  
The starting gun fires, and everything turns into a blur of ice and color. He's out quick -his trademark- but that damn Spock is just ahead of him. Jim attempts to pass him on their second time through the backstretch, but can't quite get by him before he has to drop his hand to check his speed around the turn.  
  
As they straighten up again, Jim knows he's skating too close to Spock- their arms tangle, and Spock casts a glare back in his direction. Jim refuses to back off, however, and sets up to try and pass Spock again.  
  
They're neck and neck as they approach the turn, and Jim leans closer to the ice then he knows he should, determined to take the curve faster than might be considered safe- but playing it safe won't win him this race. Spock's too conservative to play chicken with him, Jim knows, and that'll give Jim just the edge he needs to get around him.  
  
It's a dangerous move, both for him and the other skaters, but if Jim can just-  
  
But, as it turns out, he can't.  
  
Jim loses his precarious balance on the wafer-thin blade, spinning out and taking Spock (and half the other racers) with him.  
  
The next day, the SSRL formally tells him where he can shove it.  
  
\----  
  
"What is wrong with you? That pair spin is the easiest part of this routine," Jocelyn hisses, as they straighten up from the tangled mess they'd made when Leo'd had to let go of Jocelyn to catch his balance.  
  
"Sorry, I'm -"  
  
"I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry', Leo! I want you to fix whatever the hell is wrong with you! It's been going on for over a month-" she stops herself, lowering her chin and shaking her head. After a moment, she looks back up at him, sadness mingling with the frustration in her eyes.  
  
"I know it's been hard on you, what happened with your dad, but Leo, I can't let my own career go down the tubes because  _you_  can't concentrate."  
  
Leo doesn't know how to explain what's wrong, doesn't know to explain that he wants their skating to be back to normal more than anything. He's trying, but it's like his father's death melted and remolded something inside of him, and his puzzle piece doesn't fit with Jocelyn's anymore.  
  
After a few minutes of expectant silence, Jocelyn sighs. "You deserve to know the truth. I've been working with Clay Treadaway, and if you can't get it together, I'm taking him as my partner to the FSU Championships."  
  
Leo can't keep the look of shock off his face. "What? But you two haven't skated together in years, you can't possibly-"  
  
"What else am I supposed to do, Leo?" She throws her arms out in front of her, palm up. "It's an Olympic qualifying year."  
  
And with that, she turns away and signals for the music to restart.  
  
Later that same session, Leo's hand slips on the liftoff of their triple loop throw. Jocelyn ends up in a heap at center ice, bruises blooming on her knees. Leo is at her side in a second, attempting to help her up, but she shoves him away and waits for the trainer.  
  
They end early for the day, and less than an hour later, Leo gets a text:  
  
 _Don't bother showing up tomorrow. We're done. ~Joce_  
  
\----  
  
Jim can't believe what he's hearing.  
  
" _Figure skating_? That's for guys who look bad with the bruises from a real sport-"  
  
"Sit down and shut up, Jim. I'm not having you sit on your ass for a year and lose everything you've worked on."  
  
"Sir, I can still train, I just can't  _compete_ -"  
  
"Did I or did I not tell you to shut the hell up, Jim?"  
  
Jim makes a face, but stays silent. He really does respect Pike, but he just can't  _understand_  this.  
  
"More importantly, I think it's a good idea for you to take a break from racing, skate in an arena where your recklessness can only hurt  _you_."  
  
Pike pauses to let that sink in, and then continues more gently.  
  
"This could also do good things for your game. It'll improve your balance, make you lighter on your feet, more aware of your body and your space. You've gotta trust me on this, Jim."  
  
Jim nods mutely. Not only does he respect Pike; he owes him. Pike picked him up from a pond rink in Duluth, MN, and gave him a chance. The least Jim can do is give Pike's idea one, too.  
  
\----  
  
"So you're telling me that since nobody wants to partner with me anymore, I should take some fucking delinquent speed skater and train him up for, for what, exactly? So we can be some fucking dog-and-pony-show at the FSU?"  
  
Christine sighs. "No, Leo. And you know it."  
  
"Well apparently I don't, because I can't figure out where they hell you're going with this."  
  
"Look, Leo," she says, her tone sharp. "You want to compete in singles, that's fine. But you haven't trained for that in years. Helping this kid out will give you a way to regain your footing so that you don't look like a complete idiot when they turn that spotlight on you."  
  
He scowls, but knows she's right. It's been awhile since he's thought about skating in singles terms, and there are a lot of tricks he's out of practice with.  
  
"And," Christine adds, her voice switching from 'choreographer' to 'friend', "It might help you to have something, _someone_ , else to focus on."  
  
"Didn't work out so well with Jocelyn, did it?"  
  
"No, but this is different. No one's expecting to mind-sync with this kid. You'll show him the ropes, make him look good...and if he gets out there and falls on his ass, it'll be all his own fault. It's a win-win. Kapeesh?"  
  
Leo rolls his eyes at her childish turn of phrase, but nods.  
  
Christine grins and pokes him on the shoulder repeatedly. "Come on, you know what I want to hear..."  
  
He can't contain a small smile, suddenly thankful he hadn't lost this friendship along with so many others.  
  
"Kapeesh."  
  
\----  
  
It's lucky that Jim's first ice capades (fine,  _figure skating_ ) training session is at 7 AM, because it means nobody else is at the rink at 6:30 to watch him flail around like an amateur as he tries to warm up.  
  
It's the damn skates. Jim hasn't ever worn traditional skates- like most kids, he'd learned how to skate on hockey skates, and of course they were all he needed as a hockey player; when he began racing, he'd switched to clap skates and never looked back.   
  
The main problem is that regular skates don't have a hinge at the front the way clap skates do. Jim's entire foot is now rigidly fixed to the blade, and he is no longer able to move his ankle freely every time he takes a stroke. Instead, when he lifts the front of his foot, the entire skate comes with it, causing him to topple forward like some small child with a large head.  
  
He's kind of enjoying the toe pick (another new feature), however - he's managed to catch himself on it and balance a few times, which is fun (until he falls on his ass).  
  
By the time 7:00 rolls around, Jim's made enough progress that he doesn't look like he took up skating yesterday, at least. Spying a figure standing at the rink counter at the far end, he skates over and comes to a sloppy stop in front of him.  
  
The guy looks slightly horrified and says, "You Jim Kirk?" as if he hopes the answer is no.  
  
Jim, however, is more or less used to this type of reaction upon meeting someone, so he puts on his most proudly charming smile and sticks out his hand. "The one and only."  
  
"Great," the guy mutters, and sighs, but takes Jim's hand. "Leo McCoy." And with that, he pushes open the rink gate and glides smoothly out onto the ice.  
  
McCoy's a lot taller, and more built, than Jim would have imagined a figure skater to be- somehow, in his head, they always seem small and willowy, constantly followed by their own personal wind machine (for flowing hair) and spotlight (for sparkle). He's definitely good-looking, though- hazel eyes and dark coloring that Jim thinks probably makes a pretty picture when contrasted with the blinding white of the ice.  
  
 _Tall, dark, and handsome_ , Jim muses,  _Not my usual style, but I like it._  
  
"You comin'?" McCoy asks, hands on his hips. "I don't have all day."  
  
Jim throws him a salute and a "Sir, yes sir!" as he follows, and can't help grinning at the almost comical scowl McCoy sends him in response.  
  
This might not be so bad after all.  
  
\----  
  
Leo's got to admit that the kid's not completely useless- he's got strength and stamina, and he's not afraid to try any and every trick in the figure skating handbook. He fails at nearly all of them, but it doesn't seem to dampen his spirit at all- in fact, it seems to make him more determined to succeed.  
  
The biggest problem, as far as Leo can see right now, is that despite the fact that Jim would look fuckin' amazing in a figure skating costume (Leo is grumpy and sarcastic, not blind), he is abso-mother-lutely graceless.  
  
It's not that Jim's a klutz; it's that he was only ever trained to skate in circles, head down, arms behind his back or tucked in at his sides in a runner's stance. It's like he's suddenly become aware of appendages other than his legs and has no clue what to do with them. More often than not, he ends up flailing them around and looking like a fucking goose on skates.  
  
Another small problem is that Jim was trained to put his hand down to the ice for balance, which is frowned upon in figure skating. During their first session, Leo had wondered if he'd have to bring in a baseball bat and literally beat that into the kid's skull; luckily, he seems to have curbed the instinct, for the most part.  
  
At the end of their first week together, Leo finds that he doesn't hate this as much as he thought he might. Focusing on Jim's skating is a nice distraction, and he likes that he can keep it separate from his own training. And although it is clear that one of Jim's goals in life is to find new ways to be wildly inappropriate and/or ridiculous, he's a hard worker and doesn't whine (much). He also has a smart-ass return for every single one of Leo's comments, and Leo often leaves their sessions with a grin (on the inside only).  
  
They're walking out the rink lobby door one morning when Leo realizes he's forgotten his car keys in the locker room, and runs back to grab them while Jim waits. When he re-emerges, he finds that Jim has wandered his way along the Wall of Champions- podium pictures of past championship winners. Leo's wary when he sees the Jim is grinning at him (reminds him of the Cheshire Cat).  
  
"Man, get over here, " Jim says, waving. "Is this you?"  
  
"Fuck you."  
  
"Hey, legit question, it's hard to recognize you with the eyepatch and the sword and the striped pantaloo-"  
  
Leo interrupts him with a whack over the head, which only causes Jim to double over in a fit of laughter. Leo crosses his arms, scowling, and says, "I'm gonna call Christine right now and make sure she puts you in something that'll give new meaning to the words 'disco stick'."  
  
Jim just cracks up again at that, but when Leo pulls out his phone and flips it open, Jim makes an attempt to sober up.   
  
He stops laughing, although a huge grin is fighting at his mouth, and claps Leo on the shoulder. "C'mon, bro, don't be like that- I really admire you. It takes a strong man to wear a skull and crossbones on his-"  
  
Leo shoves Jim with his free hand and raises his phone hand warningly, and Jim huffs out one final laugh before adding, more seriously, "-and hey, I didn't know you were a pairs skater."  
  
"I'm not," Leo answers, and at Jim's questioning glance, amends, "Anymore."  
  
Jim looks like he wants to ask more about that, but Leo doesn't give him the chance.  
  
"So don't get any ideas about us being the first male-male figure skating partnership or some shit, you hear?"  
  
There's a split second before Jim responds, a split second that tells him that Jim knows what Leo's doing, and is going to go along with it, at least for now.   
  
But before Leo can even fully form that thought, Jim is staggering back as though mortally wounded, placing one hand over his heart.  
  
"But, Bones! Think how wonderful we could be!  _Together_ ," Jim says dramatically, swaying toward Leo on the last word and laying his head on Leo's shoulder, fluttering his eyelashes.  
  
"Get off me, you leech," he says, getting out of Jim's grip, "And what the hell did you just call me?"  
  
\----  
  
Jim slams his hand down on the snooze button for the fifth time and stares at the clock, trying to find the motivation to haul himself out of bed, into something that isn't his Star Trek boxers, and down to the ice rink.   
  
It's not that he doesn't like practicing with Bones, because he does. He likes the way they josh at each other, the way Bones can verbally knock him on his ass one minute and have him dying of laughter in the next. He likes finding ways to provoke the patented You Crazy Motherfucker Eyebrow Raise, and awards himself double bonus points if he can achieve the WTF Are You On Lip Curl as well.   
  
He likes how Bones knows exactly what to say to get him to listen, to pull him out of funks of frustration, to bring his ego down to size- the list goes on. Sometimes it's like Bones has a Handy Dandy Jim Kirk Guidebook (a book Jim himself dearly wishes he had a copy of).  
  
Sometimes they go out for breakfast after practice, tucking themselves into their favorite booth at Scotty's Egg Emporium (terrible name, great food) and trading stories for hours over refill after refill of coffee. Often on Thursday nights, they go to the cheap movie theater on 27th and see whatever terrible science fiction film is playing, and make witty remarks throughout. Last week they'd created a Fantasy Football league together.  
  
The point is, he likes practicing and hanging out with Bones, but their routine has gotten so monotanous. Jim wants to do well at figure skating, but his brain needs a break from staring at jump and spin diagrams. His body needs a break from doing the same motions over and over, day after day. His soul needs a break from the flourescent rink lights and the sterile blankness of the empty seats.  
  
So he makes a split-second decision and instead of driving to the rink, he drives over to Bones' apartment building on St. Clair and hits the horn as hard as he can the minute Bones walks out the front door. (This isn't technically necessary, but the extra effort is totally worth it when Bones jumps 8 feet in the air and glares like a laser when he realizes who's sitting in the driver's seat.)  
  
Jim rolls down the shotgun window and Bones leans in. "We carpooling to the office today, Kirk?"  
  
"We're playing hooky today, McCoy. Get in before I steal your stapler."  
  
"Where're we goin'?" Bones asks, hand already on the door.  
  
Jim grins.   
  
\----  
  
Leo probably should be more skeptical about getting into a car with Jim Kirk without knowing the destination, but truth be told, his only reaction to Jim's wanting to skip practice is  _thank fucking god_. He doesn't care where they go, as long as it doesn't involve combinations or rotations or sequences, loops or flips or edges. (And fuck, Leo'd thought he'd left math behind when he graduated.)  
  
So he can't hide his horror when Jim pulls up in front of Frogton Pond, a public outdoor skating rink.  
  
"What the hell, Jim? You're aware that when normal people ditch work, they typically do something that isn't  _work_ , right?"  
  
Jim shakes his head with a smile as he pulls the keys out of the ignition. "Bones, today we are not skating for the company. Today, we're skating for fun."  
  
Leo has a few choice words about Jim's idea of fun, but by the time he turns his head to say them, Jim is already out of the car and hollering for Leo (he will not use Jim's godawful nickname in his head,  _he will not_ ) to hurry up. Leo sighs and gets out, and opens the back door to get his gear, only to have to jump back and hold in a yelp as Jim slams the door shut again.  
  
"They've got everything we need inside. Come on."  
  
"You could've just said something, you little shit, you almost took my fingers off!"  
  
Jim takes his hand and pretends to examine it closely. "Aww, does wuh poor Bonesy-wonesy have a owie? Do you need Jimmy to kiss it all better?"  
  
A shiver passes through Leo as Jim's breath ghosts hot over his palm, and he covers it up by shoving Jim (who's trying to keep a straight face but failing) away with a growled, "Fuck off," and then, "Didn't you promise me some fun? Because I'm not having any, yet."  
  
The grin on Jim's face doesn't change, but a mischievous glint appears in his eyes. "Oh trust me, Bones," he says, "I can show you a good time."  
  
"I don't have any ones," says Leo, deadpan.  
  
Jim does manage to stop laughing by the time they get down to the ice, but it's a close thing (not that it matters as by then he's convinced everyone in the place that he's fucking deranged).  
  
Despite being a little uncomfortable in the rented skates, Leo finds himself excited and having fun with skating in a way he hasn't since he first put on a something covered in sequins. He loves figure skating, but when he started competing, it stopped being playful. There was no leading a group of little girls in crack-the-whip, or attempting to learn curling. There was no banging into the wall on purpose or falling down and just staying there, flat on your back, laughing.   
  
There was no just skating around and around the rink in an easy rhythm with Jim, sometimes talking but often just breathing fresh air and listening to the scrape of the blades. And as he looks over at his friend, he can see that this change of pace has been good for Jim as well. He skates as gracefully as ever, but his frame is loose and easy instead of tight and controlled; the very definition, as Leo's mother would have said, of natural. With a flash of insight, Leo realizes that he has never seen Jim this way during training and probably never will- for Jim, there is pretty much nothing that is  _natural_  about figure skating.  
  
Eventually they take a hot chocolate (with Jameson for flavor) break, sitting on a lonely bench a little ways away from the rink and trading stories about their first times (skating).   
  
"How'd you get into figure skating?" Jim asks Leo, tilting his head like a bird trying to hear better. "I've always wondered how it happens, for guys, anyway."  
  
Leo tips his head back, remembering. "I was skating with my cousins once, and my one cousin was practicing her jumps, and it looked like fun to a dumb kid like me, so I tried one." He pauses, just to feel Jim's attention. "And I landed it. And then I got another one. And another one. And my aunt, she begged my parents to let her take me to figure skating lessons with her kids. My dad wasn't too keen on that, seeing as I was his only boy and he thought I should be playing hockey. But he never could say no to his little sister."   
  
Leo sighs, staring up at the grey sky. Jim is quiet but still focused on him, and suddenly Leo can't fucking stand it anymore.  
  
"Do you miss speed skating?" he asks Jim, bringing his head down to look Jim in the eye.  
  
Jim looks away for a second, caught off guard, but then he meets Leo's gaze steadily.  
  
"Yeah. I do. But I'm not sorry I fucked up."  
  
Leo snorts. "You don't have to-"  
  
Jim continues as if he hasn't heard, "I mean, I guess we have to wait and see how much good triple lutzes will do me, but." He clenches his fist, and inexplicably, Leo's heart is in his throat. "I know how much good you do me."  
  
He gives a little smile, almost sheepish, which Leo answers by leaning over to kiss him.  
  
Leo brushes his lips against Jim's, a little rough and chapped, and licks his lower lip, tasting strawberry chapstick. He tries to make a mental note to rag Jim about that later, but fails because suddenly his tongue is inside Jim's mouth, and it's warm and slick and tastes like chocolate, with the bitterness of whiskey chasing after. Jim's got on hand on Leo's shoulder and the other slips beneath his sweatshirt to travel up his back. Jim's hands are as cold as ice on Leo's bare skin, and he shifts closer to the warmth of Jim's body, breaking the kiss to skim his mouth down Jim's throat, biting at the juncture of Jim's neck and shoulder. Jim heaves a breathy laugh that morphs into a moan, and Leo moves back up to kiss him again so he can feel it.  
  
Thought falls away for awhile, and they never make it back onto the ice, but Leo would definitely say it's the best practice session he's ever had.  
  
\----  
  
Jim gets the call while he is doing laundry one Sunday afternoon. And because he's doing laundry alone, he is also humming and grinning like a loon because he has one of Bones' sweatshirts in his laundry basket. And he might have smelled it and so he might know that it still smells like Bones.  
  
Anyway, back to the call. His cell phone rings as he's sorting socks, the chorus of "Jumping Jack Flash" alerting him that it's Pike.  
  
"Jim, you have got to be the luckiest sonofabitch on the planet."  
  
"That's what I said! I won that money fair and-"  
  
"Jim, the SSRL has agreed to let you race in the Itgietoan on February 21st."  
  
"The race sponsored by Starbuc-"  
  
"Focus on the first part of the sentence, please."  
  
"Right. Ok. Why, again, would the SSRL agree to let me race? They were really excited to get rid of me. I'm pretty sure there was a parade."  
  
"They don't have enough qualified competitors. Scott fell in practice and blew out his knee, and Chekov's decided he wants to go back to Russia and race for the motherland or something. The point is, Jim, that the SSRL is willing to let you skate this race on probation, and if it goes well, they'll reconsider their decision to suspend you."  
  
Jim doesn't know what to say, mostly because he's standing in front of his calendar, pen in hand, ready to write the race in the February 21st box- only he can't, because it already says  _FIGURE SKATING UNION CHAMPIONSHIPS_.  
  
Bones.  
  
Bones, who has spent an insane amount of time trying to train his ridiculous ass up to Level Not Embarrassing.   
  
Bones, to whom this championship is extremely important.  
  
Bones, who is probably one of the best things to ever happen to Jim and someone Jim would rather not lose. Especially if he can prevent it.  
  
He can't.  
  
"I can't."  
  
"What? Jim, cancel your hair appointment or whatever the fuck you think is more important-"  
  
"It's the FSU Championships."  
  
Pike lets out a long sigh of comprehension. "Jim. I know that I told you that I think figure skating would be good for you, and I still do. But there's no guarantee the SSRL will give you another chance like this. Placing in this race is your ticket to the Olympics, kid. If you don't skate it, it'll be  _four years_  before you have another shot. Think long and hard about that."  
  
Jim is silent, knowing Pike has a point but unwilling to concede it.  
  
Pike sighs again. "I need an answer by 4 PM today," he says. "Either way, let me know what you decide."  
  
Jim spends the next few hours lying on the cool tile of his bathroom floor, trying not to be sick over the idea of having to wait another four years for a shot at Olympic gold (The Dream), or, alternately, the idea of Bones never wanting to talk to him again (and he knows it would be  _never_ \- Bones can hold a grudge with the best of them). He approaches the problem from every angle, tries to figure out a way he could warp time to be at both competitions or raise enough money to clone himself. But in the end, there's no magic Time-Turner to save him, and so there's only one choice left.  
  
At 3:52 PM, he sends the following email to Pike:  
  
 _Coach,  
  
You told me that you wanted me in figure skating because I would only be a danger to myself. Weirdly enough, I think what I gained from it is how to think about someone else, for once. And I won't let him down.  
  
I swear, in 5 years, I'll be at the starting line in Sochi and they won't fucking know what hit them.  
  
Jim_  
  
Then he pulls the bottle of Ketel One out of the cupboard above his refrigerator, flips his tv to the Lifetime Movie Network, and tries to forget about his life for the rest of the night.  
  
The next morning, Jim discovers that the world has not stopped turning and is only a little surprised. Over the next month, he throws himself completely into his training, more determined than ever to do well in this competition. Bones notices the change, but just seems to think it means that Jim's nervous, and Jim doesn't correct him (least of all because it means amazing blowjobs that are meant to help him relax).  
  
Before he knows it, it's the day of the FSU Championships and Jim is alone in the holding room pulling on his competition costume, which looks like it was designed by a 8-year-old girl; Jim congratulates himself on pulling off his patented Extremely Dashing in blue crushed velvet accented by black sequins and randomly placed peacock feathers.  
  
The door opens and in the mirror, Jim sees Bones come in. Jim grins; it's probably time for a Motivational Speech (Hallmark-certified) that will hopefully end in their making out until it's time for Jim to take the ice.   
  
As Bones comes closer, though, Jim can see that he is very obviously angry, and Jim turns around to face him directly. "What-"  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"Um, hello? It's almost my turn, I'm centering myself and visualizing and practicing my thank-you wave-"  
  
"Cut the bullshit, Jim," Bones says, and shoves a rolled-up magazine into his hands. "Christine just showed me this."  
  
Jim, confused, unrolls the magazine. It's this week's copy of Sports Illustrated, open to page of small articles on a range of topics, with one in particular circled in red. The headline reads, "Jim Kirk: Trading Speed Suit for Sequins Permanently?" and he doesn't have to read further to guess what it says. The SSRL would have been only too happy to report that James T. Kirk, speed skating's John McEnroe, had chosen  _figure skating_  over a chance to go to Vancouver.  
  
"Jim. Answer me. Why are you here?"  
  
Jim shrugs, looking down at his skates because Bones doesn't understand, and it hurts. "This competition is important to you. I knew that. I wouldn't let you down."  
  
There's a pause, and then Bones whaps Jim hard on the side of the head. Jim whips his head up in shock to see Bones shaking his head at him in amazement. "You are an  _idiot_ ," Bones says, coming closer to Jim and grabbing his forearms, looking him right in the eye. "Important to me? What's important to me is you being happy, asshole. Doing what you want to do, what you  _love_  to do. And boy I can tell you for sure, this sequins business ain't it."  
  
Now it's Jim's turn to shake his head. It's true, but- "But you worked so hard training me. How can you be all 'whatever' about me just walking away?"  
  
Bones tips his head back and gives a small laugh. Meeting Jim's eyes again, he says, "Jim, I took on training you as a distraction from my fucking miserable life." He leans in and kisses Jim, just a quick brush of lips. "A distraction I don't need anymore."  
  
Jim can't help but grin wide at that. And when he does, Bones smirks and shoves him backward into a folding chair, kneeling in front of him.  
  
"Bones, I don't think-" but Jim stops short when he realizes that Bones is unlacing his left skate.  
  
Bones tugs the laces loose and says impatiently, "Come on, get your other one off, we gotta move fast."  
  
"For what?" Jim asks, although he's already complying.  
  
Bones just shakes his head and looks at his watch. "15 minutes," is all he says. As soon as Jim's got his right skate off, Bones grabs his wrist and takes off at a run through the back hallways of the arena, with Jim struggling to keep up and not flail into unsuspecting bystanders. They emerge into the parking lot, and Bones shoves Jim into his car before taking off like they're the Dukes of Hazzard (Jim is so totally Bo).  
  
They run a red light and just nearly miss an old lady crossing the street (in the rearview mirror, Jim can see her shaking her fist at them), so Jim feels justified in yelling, "Bones, the  _hell_  are we going?"  
  
With a sideways look that says  _you dumbass_ , Bones says, "Itgietoan. Or how ever the fuck you say it."  
  
Jim gapes, and then his brain catches up. "But- I'm not registered- they won't let me-"  
  
"I had Christine call Pike," Bones starts, and at Jim's look of astonishment, "What? How do you think I got stuck with you in the first place? The point is, Pike said he'd get you in."  
  
"I don't have my gear-"  
  
"Christine got you a pair of clap skates and a helmet. That's all she could do, though, so you'll have to race in that."  
  
Jim looks down at his prom king ensemble and winces.  
  
They screech to a halt in front of the stadium and Bones shoves him out of the car, yelling, "Go! You have 4 minutes!"  
  
As soon as he gets in the door, Pike and Christine grab his arms and hustle him through the crowd, leaping over small children and shoving adults out of their way. Bursting through the competitors-only door, they shove Jim down on a bench, where he and Pike work on the skates while Christine gets his helmet settled. He doesn't even have time to take a breath before they're pushing him over the counter and onto the ice.  
  
"Jim," says Pike, and Jim looks back. "I don't have time to psych you up, but I don't need to. You're one of the best I've ever seen, Jim. You know what to do. Just do it."  
  
Jim nods and heads to the starting line. He nods to the referees, who look pointedly at their watches but don't say anything. Taking his place, he can hear the titters through the crowd at his outfit, but tunes them out. Next to him, Spock raises an eyebrow but says nothing; one more down, however, Sulu is snickering. "Get your laundry mixed up with your grandma's again, Kirk?"  
  
"Shut the fuck up," Jim snaps, "I could beat you in a mink coat and hoop skirt."  
  
Sulu opens his mouth to reply, but the referee calls for them to take their mark.  
  
Jim leans down, shutting everything out but the curved line Pike taught him to see on the ice. The gun goes off, and just like the last time, Spock's out ahead of him first- but in a flash, Jim sees the perfect way to get ahead of him.  
  
He catches up to Spock on the straightaway and positions himself on the inside. As they come into the turn, instead of leading with his inside (right) foot, Jim instead leads with his left, balancing on the inside edge of that skate as if he were taking off for a double salchow. The result is that Spock can't mimic his body position to flow around him and stay ahead, and so he falls into second behind Jim.  
  
His first instinct when taking the lead is to go for broke so that no one can catch him, but he can hear Bones' voice in his head:   
  
 _Have some control, Jim. It's not all about power. When you lose control, you make mistakes, and who cares how high you can jump if you only ever land on your ass?_  
  
So he keeps himself at a speed he's comfortable with and focuses on maneuvering himself so he stays in first. On the last lap, Sulu comes up beside him the outside. Jim thinks fast and executes a quick edge change that he learned for figure skating jumps in sequence. He changes back immediately (so that he doesn't veer off into the stands), but it's enough to throw Sulu off his game a little and eliminate the threat.  
  
Jim comes around the fourth turn and suddenly can hear the crowd roaring, and as he lifts his head a little, he can see Bones in the mob straight ahead of him, just beyond the finish line. Bones is looking right at him, intense like Jim's never seen, and he mouths  _now, Jim, now_.  
  
And Jim lets go. He skates as hard as he can and for all he's worth, putting everything in him that wants to win this race and the impossibly bigger everything that wants to make Bones proud into every stroke, leaving nothing behind.  
  
He crosses the finish line first.  
  
As soon as he sees his name flash on the leaderboard, making it official, Jim falls to his knees, literally feeling like he's just skated for his life. He gulps air like a fish out of water as the other skaters fly past him, some of them patting him on the shoulder in congratulations.   
  
When they clear, Jim sees Bones clambering over the wall and onto the ice, slipping in his tennis shoes, and suddenly Jim has a new wave of energy. He's on his feet and moving forward in seconds, throwing his arms around Bones with no intention of ever letting go. Bones seems to have the same idea, and Jim can feel his mile-wide-grin where it's pressed against Jim's shoulder. That seems to let loose something in Jim, because suddenly he's laughing and whispering in Bones' ear, "Thank you, thank you,  _thank you_." (Although what he really means is, "I love you, I love you,  _I love you_.")  
  
\----  
  
Hours later (and with a medal of his own for the day), Leo accepts Jim's gratitude by shoving him back onto his bed and kissing him hard as he slips Jim's warmup pants and underwear off his hips. He closes a hand around Jim's cock and strokes once, making Jim gasp and break the kiss. Leo smirks and inches his way down Jim's body, tonguing his collarbone, chest, abs, navel; loving every little moan or whine Jim can't hold back.   
  
He kisses the inside of Jim's thigh and then makes the mistake of looking up to see Jim's face. He's flushed and breathing hard, perfect mouth open just a little, and the desire in his eyes makes them seem electric in the dark. And if that isn't the hottest thing Leo has ever fucking seen, he doesn't know what is, and he has to reach down and rub his own cock through his pants.   
  
Leo slides his mouth around Jim's cock slowly, licking and sucking in a way that he knows drives Jim crazy. Just as he's starting to get into it, though, Jim grabs his hair and roughly pulls him up; Leo scrambles and catches himself before he falls on top of Jim, but it's close.   
  
"Not gonna...just, I," Jim says breathlessly, then seems to give up on words and just pulls lube out from under his pillow and kissing Leo as he pushes it into his hand.   
  
Leo nods and stands up, pulling his own sweats and underwear off, and getting a little thrill when Jim moans, reaching down to touch himself. Leo catches his hand, however, and says, "Not yet, Speed."  
  
Jim sticks his tongue out and asks, "Does that make you Trixie?", which earns him a slap on the ass.  
  
Rubbing his thumb over Jim's right deltoid muscle to keep him relaxed, Leo slides one finger and then two inside Jim, stretching him slowly. Jim squirms and makes little whiny noises, eyes shut tight; but eventually he opens them and huffs out, "More, Bones,  _come on_."  
  
So Leo gives the little brat exactly what he asked for and slides a third finger in, immediately crooking his fingers and getting no small amount of satisfaction from the way Jim groans loudly and arches his back off the bed.  
  
Of course after that, Leo really isn't willing to just watch anymore, and soon he is sliding himself slowly into Jim. He's trying to be careful, but it's so hot and tight and  _good_  that he can barely hold himself together, eyes closed and muscles trembling with the effort. Jim runs a hand up his arm, prompting him to open his eyes. Jim quirks a little smile and says, "Now, Bones, now."  
  
Leo feels a sudden rush of affection for the man underneath him and that, on top of everything else he's feeling, snaps his control. He thrusts into Jim as hard as he can; and Jim lifts his hips to meet him every time, reaching a hand in between them to stroke himself. Leo's head is a tangle of  _wantyessogoodfuckJimlove_  that pulls tighter and tighter until it sends a spark down his spine, and Leo is coming and taking Jim with him.  
  
Later still, just as he's about to fall asleep, Jim turns his head so his chin is touching Leo's shoulder and his breath is warm at Leo's ear.   
  
"Wanna hear a secret?" Jim asks softly.  
  
Leo grumbles a noise that he knows Jim will take for yes, no matter how Leo meant it.  
  
"I think I'm gonna miss the sequins."


End file.
